


for which i have to howl

by treztine



Series: set our hearts ablaze [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Blood Drinking, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Porn With Plot, Rough Sex, Sexual Content, Vampire Bites, vampire/werewolf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:28:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27271927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treztine/pseuds/treztine
Summary: A werewolf wakes in a garden on the morning after a full moon. Bleary and moondrunk on the doorstep of an ancient manor, she finds that a second beast lurks within, and a battle between hunters ensues. Who will claim their quarry, and who will become the meal?Just a shameless, smutty vampire/werewolf AU.
Relationships: Alisaie Leveilleur/Original Character(s), Alisaie Leveilleur/Warrior of Light
Series: set our hearts ablaze [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1399156
Comments: 14
Kudos: 39





	1. hallow'ed ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Like some child possessed, the beast howls in my veins  
>  I want to find you, tear out all of your tenderness_

It wasn't the first time Poppy woke up in a garden. She was used to rising in the strangest of places the morning after a full moon, after all. Halfway up trees in foreign woods. In hay stacks within the barns of hapless strangers. Among the oddest of her beds, a patch of roses was certainly more pleasant than most. Though, that particular plot could hardly be considered comfortable.

The bushes were more akin to a bramble, with stems thick as vines and just as sturdy. The thorns were equally impressive in size, sticking into Poppy's arms and legs and the rest of her like little knives, burying themselves deeper into her flesh with each labored breath. She blinked blearily skyward, but could scarce see the actual flowers through the thickness of the leaves that shielded both her and their roots from the sun.

As she propped herself up on her elbows, Poppy let out a soft whine at the fresh prick of thorns. Such monstrous blooms could only belong to either a masochist or a madman.

Not too keen on meeting the owner of the garden either way, Poppy paused. The heaviness of her body was a reminder to not push herself too hard so soon. Bones shattering and shifting, sinew growing and retracting, teeth and claws sharpening and dulling within the span of one night—it was all enough to exhaust man and beast alike.

Poppy laid back down beneath the brambles again and let out a weary sigh. It seemed her body was determined to rest some more, despite the keen urge she felt to return to her den.

“Hungry,” she murmured plaintively into the dirt, as if it might hear her whines and produce a meal for her out of pity. Unfortunately, it didn't, and Poppy's stomach rumbled its disappointment in earnest.

Her head rolled to the side and she pouted—but only for a moment before the enticing smell of iron hit her nose past the dampness of soil. Her jaws slavered out of habit thanks to the instinct beaten into her blood by her affliction. And she remembered, suddenly, how she ended up tangled in the garden in the first place.

Visions of the previous night played back like hazy flashes of a pleasant dream. The trail of a powerful scent led her through the woods. A stag tall and proud, with a crown of antlers heavy on its brow, sporting bez and trez tines that shot upward like branches and stretched far into the clouded heavens. Then it vanished into the stormy woods and a foolish little hare happened to cross her path instead. Poppy lifted her head and took a deep breath that guided both her nose and her eyes to the limp body of her prey.

Its mottled fur was thick with blood and her own saliva, its body broken beyond repair and its life long drained. Poppy found the strength to drag herself through the pesky tangle of stems towards her prize. Though her jaws were no longer large enough to clamp around the hare’s throat, her teeth managed to sink into its scruff and lift it from the dirt. She could still smell its fear and tasted the last moments of its life among traces of night air that clung to its skin. The latent thrill of the hunt was enough to remind her weary body how to function in its current shape.

With the hare dangling from her mouth, Poppy crawled slowly through the rose bush on all fours. It stung and battered her, fighting back with its thorns as if annoyed to be disturbed, and the tatters of her clothing caught on each angry stem on the way out. When she was finally freed of the roses’ grasp, bright sunlight stung her eyes and she collapsed into the adjacent flowerbed—one that was filled with far softer purple blooms, to Poppy's great relief. Dazed, she laid there for a while to catch her breath and take in her surroundings.

The garden was large and planted with rows of all sorts of flowers and herbs and vegetables that muddled her nose with a wide variety of smells. It was tended to with tremendous care, if the neatly pruned foliage that swayed all around her was any indication. Likely by whoever it was who lived within the manor that loomed beyond the garden’s walls, covered in winding swaths of ivy and looking decidedly menacing, as most old manors made of cracking stone and dark ancient wood did. That somebody would not be pleased to see their prized murderous roses trampled, Poppy knew.

She would've liked to make a hasty escape and enjoy her breakfast, but her traitorous body refused to budge further. Poppy’s mind grew hazier, her vision fuzzy and her senses overwhelmed, suddenly, by the flowers that surrounded her.

“Oh—”

There was a squeak of surprise that made Poppy start. The hare she held fell from her jaws just as she looked up to see a woman drop a watering can and a pair of shears. Water spilled at the Hyuran gardener’s feet and she jumped back, clasping a hand over her mouth to silence a scream. Poppy would've been offended by how she turned on her heel and ran if it wasn't for the fact that the bedraggled and bruised state of her would cause any sane person a shock. But then panic set in when she realized she couldn't move a muscle to flee before the woman returned.

It was more than just the usual symptoms of a moondrunk night. Poppy's head swam from the overwhelming stink of the flowers crushed around her and it clicked into place: _wolfsbane_. Just her rotten luck. Try as she might to move, she was paralyzed, pinned in place by the wicked spell the purple blooms held over her. Just a sprig of the stuff was enough to knock her on her arse, and she feared what a whole bloody plot of it might do.

“Twelve forfend,” a voice muttered from somewhere above.

Poppy's large ears twitched toward the sound and the rest of her head followed, despite how it felt like it was full of rocks. A different woman was crouched a mere fulm away, with the startled gardener cowering behind her. The rim of the woman’s hat was wide enough to block out the harsh rays of the sun while she stared down at Poppy, wide-eyed from between the windswept strands of a snowy fringe. Despite the shade, the single earring that hung from her pointed ear flashed silver in the light, making Poppy wince.

“What has happened to you?” the woman asked, concern straining the edges of the question.

“I— I—”

It took a moment, but Poppy's vocal chords remembered how to wrap around the syllables of the common tongue. Still, she stuttered, unsure what to say even if she were coherent.

The woman’s pale brows furrowed as she frowned, though the worry never quite made it to her eyes. She reached out and brushed Poppy's cheek with fingers that were cold and a touch that was all too gentle. There was something about her—something menacing, something that was off somehow—that made Poppy's hackles raise and her lips curl in an unintentional snarl. She tried to pull away but could do little when the poison of wolfsbane filled her lungs.

“Oh, you poor creature,” the woman whispered. The smile she wore spoke pity, but there was little to be gleaned from the words aside from mockery.

Poppy thought of the hare that laid crumpled beneath her and how it must've felt in the last moments of its life. She wondered if the fear that consumed her as she faded away could compare, staring up at the steely blue, predatory gaze that bore into her with unsettling intensity. For the first time in her life, she pitied her own prey.

* * *

When Poppy woke again, she found herself in a place no less strange than before. In truth, she couldn't remember the last time she slept in a bed, having long shed the comforts of man in exchange for nights spent free beneath the stars. At the very least, it was a considerably more pleasant place to sleep than among the thorns of a rose bush. Her worn body thanked her for it, sinking into the plushness of the feathered mattress.

A comforter made of crimson wool was pulled up to her chin, scratchy and stifling in its weight. A glance around the spacious room revealed adornments of the same shade; from a woven rug that covered the worn floorboards, to tapestries that hung from the stone walls, to heavy curtains drawn over several tall windows. It was a rather nice room, aside from a peculiar sort of scent that hung in the air, faint but enough to make her nose tingle.

But there was something odd, Poppy realized. Blinding sunlight poured in beneath and between the large swaths of cloth that covered the windows. It was bright enough to capture suspended motes of dust and draped itself over a set of furniture carefully carved of dark wood in long, shimmering lines. It couldn't have been very long past midday, yet the dimness of the room may as well have made it night. Unease settled within Poppy like a stone, heavy as her blanket.

“Ah, you're awake.”

The voice startled Poppy halfway out of her skin. She shot up, shoving the confines of the bed away as instinct kicked in. Her head pounded and her body ached, but she ignored it. It was another surprise to find her tattered clothing and furs gone, replaced with the soft linen of a simple shift. She patted her arms and chest, wondering if she _had_ died and found herself in some bizarre sort of afterlife.

“Your clothing was torn beyond repair, I'm afraid,” the same voice spoke to address Poppy's silent, frantic thoughts. “I pray you do not mind overmuch, but the healer discarded them after she tended to your wounds.”

Poppy's ears flicked to the side to catch the words and her eyes quickly followed. Seated in a plush armchair just beside the bed was the same white-haired woman from the garden. She held a large red apple and a silver knife in hand, its blade pressed into the skin. Having caught Poppy’s eye, she placed both on the small porcelain plate balanced in her lap. That unsettling gaze was fixed on Poppy, equal parts curious and intense. The back of her neck prickled with some sort of silent warning.

“I hope I haven't startled you. Forgive me if I have,” the woman said. Her eyes softened to an apologetic expression. “The healer—Christine is her name—told me that it was likely you hit your head. I remained here to ensure you received prompt care should you awake in pain, is all.”

She sounded earnest enough and Poppy relaxed, just enough to quell the urge to leap out of bed and sink her teeth into the woman’s throat. She tilted her head a bit, considering Poppy from beneath her snowy lashes. Then she picked the knife up again.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, her gaze fixed on the fruit instead of Poppy.

“I—” Poppy’s voice was harsh from disuse and scratched her throat on the way to her mouth, but made it to her lips just fine. “Well enough,” she replied after a cough, her first words spoken in well over a day.

“That is good to hear. You were bruised and battered enough to worry Christine, though it seems the worst has passed, to the surprise of us both.”

Poppy watched the knife slide into the flesh of the apple. The faintest shimmer of sunlight reflected off of it between cuts, just bright enough to make her wince. Still, she managed to smile a conspiratory little smile to herself.

“No need to worry about me. I've always been a fast healer,” Poppy said with a hint of pride.

“So it seems,” the woman agreed. She paused to flash Poppy an almost accusatory glance. “It’s not often that I wake to find my flowerbeds destroyed and a bedraggled woman napping in them,” she added, tone just a bit tart. “Do you recall what happened to put you in such a state?”

If Poppy didn’t know any better, she would’ve sworn the woman cared more for the flowers than for her, and perhaps she did. It seemed she was at least partially right in her assumption about the owner of the horrible rose bush. She looked down at the crumpled woolen blanket and smoothed it across her lap, her smile turning lopsided from the thought.

“I was… hunting,” Poppy replied. It certainly wasn’t a lie. “I don't remember much more than that. Like you said, I must’ve hit my head.” That wasn’t a lie either, to her credit. Nights of the full moon were hardly ever more than a dream. Still, she rubbed her temples to add credence to the suggestion.

The chair creaked and the woman let out a thoughtful hum. Poppy looked over just in time to see her sharp gaze flick up from the apple.

“You should have care,” she whispered in warning. “Wolves roam these woods.”

The knife sat motionless in her grasp and Poppy’s smile strained. It was hard to not show her teeth.

“So I've heard.”

Some sort of odd stalemate simmered between them. With no conversation to distract her, the smell that filled the room tickled Poppy's nose and throat, biting her senses like smoke. The woman was the first to look away.

She continued to cut the apple. The movements of her hands were precise and practiced and the slices arranged neatly on the plate as she went. Her nails were lacquered the same bright crimson as the skin of the fruit, looking like little droplets of blood in stark contrast against the white flesh they fluttered over. Poppy was entranced by the sight.

“The details matter little, I suppose. What’s most important is that you're alive.” With a shrug of her shoulders and the apple cut into slices, the woman placed the full plate and the knife on the bedside table. She crossed her legs and folded her hands atop them, flashing Poppy a smile of strained propriety. It was a bit jarring how quickly her demeanor shifted. “Gods, I've forgotten my manners again. I never was the best at keeping track of those,” the woman said, sounding a bit droll. “I am Alisaie Leveilleur, the owner of this estate.”

With a name finally given to the face, the woman felt like far less of a threat without a shroud of mystery veiling her. Lady Leveilleur looked at her expectantly enough that Poppy remembered what little manners she was still inclined to keep.

“Poppy,” she said with a slight bow of her head that made her ears droop forward, unmasking herself in turn. “Thanks for saving my sorry skin, Lady Leveilleur,” she added with a bit of humor to lighten the mood further.

“Please, there's no need for such formality,” Lady Leveilleur replied, flicking her wrist as if to shoo Poppy's appreciation away. “Call me Alisaie,” she added with a certain sort of firmness. It sounded more like an order than a suggestion, and Poppy was inclined to follow it.

“Not one for being proper, are you?” She chuckled, tone smooth and perhaps even flirtatious, “I like that, _Alisaie_.”

Poppy couldn't help but grin, exposing as much of her fearsome teeth as she could without it coming off as a threat. Alisaie flashed her a smirk in return, one that pulled up the corner of her mouth and pursed her rosy lips.

Poppy looked at her—really looked at her, finally—and decided she liked what she saw. Her features were soft but held an aristocratic sort of sharpness that made her profile look rather dignified, from her upturned nose to her long ears and her elegant neck. The paleness of her skin was rivaled only by that of her hair, which almost seemed to glow in the dim light of the room with how pure of a white it was. A neatly plaited braid hung over her shoulder, tied taut with a crimson bow that matched her nails and the apple and all else that adorned the room.

What luck to be rescued by a beauty. A distant part of Poppy wondered what it would take to get such a dignified lady to warm the bed she borrowed. Even occupied by such thoughts, her nerves refused to fully settle.

“Is there a Lord Leveilleur?” Poppy asked after a moment, bold enough to try and sate her curiosity.

“Gods, no,” Alisaie scoffed, and Poppy was glad to hear the disdain in it. “Why do you ask?” She raised a pale brow and propped her chin atop her palm as she leaned to the side in the chair, looking a bit amused.

“You're too pretty to be a spinster living alone in the woods,” Poppy replied with a shrug and a coy smile.

“You needn’t flatter me just because I’ve taken you in,” Alisaie shot back with another scoff. Poppy would've thought she was offended if not for the smirk she still wore. “Though, if you’d like to repay me my kindness, I would love to have your company for dinner tonight,” she added without missing a breath, the smile never leaving her lips.

Poppy noticed how Alisaie's eyes swept over her half-undressed form in an unabashedly appreciative way, making the skin beneath her shift prickle. She considered the invitation for a moment. Her stomach grumbled within her to remind her of the loss of her precious hare. The choice seemed obvious, in the end.

“Can’t say no to that. I’m starving,” she said, unable to contain her enthusiasm.

“As am I,” Alisaie agreed, enthusiastic herself.

They both shared in an odd, stilted laugh, as if exchanging a joke neither of them quite grasped. The sound echoed through the gloom of the chamber and died when it hit the cold walls. As silence settled over them, Alisaie gestured to the sliced apple.

“It’s not much, but it should tide you over until our meal, I hope.”

Poppy looked at the fruit, unable to muster the same enthusiasm for it that she held just a moment before. Luckily, Alisaie took this for hesitation rather than revulsion. She reached for the knife and stuck the tip into one of the slices. The meager offering was held in the space between them, a small, glistening crescent of white flesh.

“They're from my garden,” Alisaie explained with a hushed note of pride, “and quite good, I assure you.”

Poppy stared at the apple for a long moment before she reached out to accept it. Her fingers brushed against the sharp blade of the knife, just long enough to feel the harsh sting of the silver plating. She hid a wince beneath a smile and pulled her hand back to pop the slice into her mouth.

“Delicious,” she lied, a murmur that fouled the quiet sanctity of the room.

Poppy didn't dare to look away from the eyes that bore into her. The eyes she swore were blue before, but looked to be a far ruddier shade then. Perhaps thanks to the lighting of the room, or perhaps not. Either way, Alisaie looked pleased by the reaction. It took a tremendous amount of willpower for Poppy to not gag from the cloying sweetness that coated her lips.

Poppy's gracious host stood from her chair. She was rather tall and slender, as elegant as any Elezen at her full height. She straightened the front of her shirt and Poppy could do little to stop herself from admiring the low cut hem at her neck and the way her breeches hugged her hips beneath the blouse. A different sort of hunger keened within her again despite the nature of the situation she found herself in.

“You surely must be exhausted. I insist that you rest until dinner time,” Alisaie said, formal and firm once more. “I'll send the maid in a few bells time to bring you a change of clothes. Pray use the bath at your leisure if you feel so inclined. Now, if you'll excuse me.”

Alisaie offered her a brief bow and then headed for the door. Poppy stared after her, unsure how to feel about her sudden departure.

“Thank you,” she called after the other woman, a bit sheepish. An odd feeling for a wolf.

“Of course,” Alisaie said and waved, brushing off her thanks yet again. She paused at the door to shoot a smile over her shoulder, her red eyes flashing in the meager light. “I'll see you at sundown.”

Poppy was left alone, sealed in the room. The distinct sound of a lock clicking was deafening, no matter how discreet the hand that held the key tried to be. When footsteps echoed down the hall and faded away, Poppy let out a laugh.

“Well, well,” she said out loud, addressing her absent host. “What a strange game you've decided to play.”

Poppy was as dizzy as she expected to be when her feet touched the cold floor. She growled her displeasure and grabbed the plate of apple slices before she let her nose guide her.

The stench was horrific and it didn't take her long to find its source. The tiny pomander sat on the mantle above the unused fireplace across the room, not unlike the much larger ones often found in churches. Poppy picked it up and, against her better judgement, lifted the lid to see the tiny petals that smoldered inside. She nearly wretched at the smell that slapped her in the face, threatening to leave her unconscious again.

Poppy held her breath and yanked the drawstring of the nearest curtain until sunlight flooded into the room to chase the shadows away. She unlatched the window, flung it open with enough force to cause a loud clatter, and threw the pomander of wolfsbane with as much strength as she could manage in her weakened state. The woods stretched out before her beyond the wrought iron gate, and ate up the little copper ball that sent a faint trail of smoke through the air. The sliced apple followed suit, dropping to the grass below like flecks of fresh snow. She'd rather be safe than poisoned, and could hardly stomach fruit anyroad.

Poppy stuck her head out and breathed deep. Her strength returned bit by bit with each inhale, her head clearing of the dizzying haze. Fresh air filled the room to clear it and by the time Poppy pulled back inside, her senses had sharpened once more. A different sort of smell hit her, one that confirmed her suspicions. She really should have known just who—or what—she was up against from the start.

“Did you really think a bit of incense would let you hide from me?” Poppy asked.

She grinned to herself, baring her teeth at the room, the manor itself, and its owner that lurked somewhere within. Her fur bustled with curiosity and a mad sort of delight as she pondered over what a vampire could possibly want with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer i guess: alisaie is like uhhh idk pretty old here. vampires are usually old right? over a hundred or something. poppy is in her late 20s maybe? i don't know, who cares. enjoy some spicy vampire/werewolf fucking.
> 
> this will update daily until it's all posted because i learned self restraint and the whole thing is actually finished this time. special shout out to _howl_ by florence and the machine for inspiring this mess.


	2. hunters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The fabric of your flesh, pure as a wedding dress  
>  Until I wrap myself inside your arms I cannot rest_

Poppy was draped over the edge of the tub, knife in hand. It tingled her hand to hold, so strong was her blood’s aversion to it, but she was thankful that the handle shielded her from the outright sting of the silver. The blade flashed beneath the faint candlelight as it slid through the piece of wood, slicing away thick curls that fell to the tiles below like wilted petals. Whittling wasn't among Poppy's usual hobbies, unfortunately. Her cuts were graceless and lacked any sort of artistry, but as long as one end of it was pointy, it would do.

It really was lucky that the stool happened to be made of hawthorne and that her strength returned just enough to let her rip one of the legs from its frame. She glanced to the corner of the bathroom at the discarded, lopsided seat, feeling just a bit bad for ruining a true artist’s work. It was a worthy and noble sacrifice, she reasoned, and once the makeshift stake was complete, Poppy held it up to admire her work. She pressed a finger to the tip, satisfied to find it sufficiently sharp.

It was often said that hawthorne represented hope, as its blooms signaled the end of winter and coming of spring. New life after death, a burst of pink petals on the snow. It made sense that it would be used to fend off an unholy and undead creature of the night. Poppy could only hope that such pretty superstitions held any sort of merit.

Poppy dropped the stake onto the chair that held her fresh undergarments and slid back into the tub with a sigh, knife still in her grasp. She lifted a hand to examine her claws. They were a bit dull for her liking, chipped and worn down from the hunt. She began to sharpen them as well, having care to not touch her skin with the blade.

Her own cheerful humming and the faint slosh of water were the only sounds that filled the spacious room, echoing off the tiles in a way that was almost eerie, much like the caves she often called home.

“I do wonder,” Poppy said, “what my gracious host has in store for me.”

There was no one there to answer her question, but she knew that well and didn't mind. She was used to pondering things out loud with no one but herself as an audience. It was a small comfort in the odd place she found herself in, a shred of familiarity among the pomp and finery and danger. With claws at the ready, the knife was tossed aside and Poppy slid down further into the tub.

“Have to admit,” she added, stretching out her sore limbs beneath the water. “Baths _are_ nice.”

Chamomile and lilac filled the air, curling into wisps of steam, seeping into Poppy's skin and her fur and her senses. The smell was almost palpable enough to taste, but it was nice, she decided; clean and not too heavy, spring and sunlight and freshly tilled fields. A certain softness that was foreign, but pleasant.

Unlike the wolfsbane. Her nose wrinkled at the phantom of _that_ horrid stench. She slid down into the tub fully, submerging herself beneath florid suds and purple petals to escape the rancid memory. When she came back up again, Poppy was ready to dress for dinner. Her stomach rumbled in agreement as she stepped out onto wet tiles.

Once dried and dressed in her smallclothes, the stake was tucked into the waistband and hidden beneath the linen shift that Poppy pulled over her head. The wood was cold against her warmed skin, a subtle reminder to not get too comfortable with her surroundings.

When Poppy made her way back to her adjacent borrowed chambers, she found a change of clothing waiting for her, as promised. It was a bit unexpected; a lovely dress made of the softest wool that was colored a rich shade of dark, ruddy crimson with bits of black lace sewn onto the hem and collar. Just as she began to ponder over how to fasten all of the closures without tearing the thing to shreds in her hands, a knock came at the door. The same maid who'd prepared the bath let herself in a moment later.

The pretty young Miqo'te with raven hair kept her gaze to the floor, as she had before. Her large eyes were tinted a lovely shade of lavender with pupils round as a full moon, and she smelled of the selfsame plant as well as a hint of acrid fear. She approached the bed and gave Poppy a wide berth to stand beside the armoire and the full length mirror propped up next to it. It made Poppy wonder if she’d scrubbed herself enough in the tub.

“I've come to help you dress,” she announced quietly, her first words spoken to Poppy. Her fingers worried themselves into knots as she clasped her hands in front of her pinafore.

“Thanks,” Poppy replied as she glanced down at a myriad of buttons and a rather complex looking corset. “I'll need it.”

The maid was unamused by the comment, it seemed, not bothering to even look up. Poppy shrugged. She was used to striking terror into the hearts of mortals, even on her good days. Poppy pulled the dress over her head, slid her arms into the sleeves, and let the maid handle the rest.

Buttons were done up and laces were pulled taut and knotted in a quick pace with expert hands. Poppy felt not so different from a dodo trussed up during Starlight with how tight and stiff the ensemble was, wrapped around her frame and sticking straight to her bones to suck the air from her lungs. Nobility surely were a mad bunch—she thought as she squirmed beneath the corset’s grip—to endure such torture day in and day out.

The maid pulled out a plush stool and Poppy plopped down onto it with a labored huff, unused to moving about in such finery. She allowed the other woman to continue her preening with a comb that meant to tame the wild mess of her hair, ducking her head obediently beneath its teeth.

“Are you afraid of me?” she asked, a quiet observation more than a question.

“Of course not, my lady,” the maid lied. Her voice trembled almost as much as her hands did holding the comb. “Any guest of my mistress is an honor to serve.”

Poppy let out a little hum and watched the maid pluck out several little petals that’d stuck in her hair from the bath. They fluttered to the floor at her feet, crumpled and small.

“You don't have to be,” Poppy reassured her with as much earnestness as she could muster. “I won’t hurt you.”

It was the truth—she was a beast, but even she was no brute. The maid said nothing more, however, and Poppy let silence fall over them like a heavy veil. Instead, she looked up and watched the woman make her presentable.

Seeing herself reflected in the mirror alongside the other Miqo’te, the differences between them really were stark. Though she was seated Poppy knew she was taller, more muscular, with large ears and a bushy tail and long claws that set her far apart from her own people. The truth was bare and unhidden, but the maid was too polite or too terrified to say so. And as soon as she was finished—the short tufts of Poppy’s hair under control and the fur of her ears smoothed—the maid stepped away to reestablish the space between them.

“There are stockings and shoes for you as well,” she said and gestured towards the bed. “I'll be waiting outside to escort you to the dining hall.” Then she left as quickly as she came, leaving Poppy to frown in the quiet gloom of her chambers.

“How dramatic,” Poppy muttered to herself. “I'm not _that_ scary,” she added, turning back to the mirror with a pout.

Poppy admired her reflection, tilting her head in consideration. The sleeves covered her arms, puffed at her shoulders, and accentuated her cinched waist with waves of wine-colored wool that came to just past her knees. It was pretty, but Poppy certainly preferred the freedom of trousers or nothing at all. The garment was too fine and too proper for someone of her stature, but if that's what her host wanted to see her in, then she would happily indulge her.

“A monster playing dress up,” Poppy said, tapping a clawed finger to her chin. She laughed to herself and twirled to admire the way the dress billowed around her. “What a grand masquerade this'll be.”

She glanced at the pair of woolen stockings and ankle boots that sat by the bed, but decided against it. There were some discomforts she wasn't willing to endure.

The door was unlocked, to Poppy's pleasant surprise. The maid had kept her word and stood by dutifully in the hall with a chamberstick in hand, stiffening to attention when Poppy emerged. She glanced at her bare feet and frowned, but didn't say a word of protest.

“This way,” she murmured and gestured to the side. She bowed her head and led the way down the corridor, scurrying along like a little mouse who Poppy had no choice but to follow.

Rain pattered quietly on the tall windows they walked past, as if asking to be let in. Distant dim flashes of lightning illuminated the night and the hall in brief bursts, the only source of light aside from the candle the maid held. The manor creaked all around them in the maelstrom. It was old and Poppy could tell even without hearing its groans and the quiet secrets it whispered in each darkened corner. It should be, for housing such a peculiar being who was likely just as ancient as it's very foundations. 

“How long have you worked here?” Poppy asked, both out of curiosity and a need to fill the eerie silence that lurked all around them in the hall. She saw the maid’s shoulders tense from her place a few paces ahead.

“Nearly two summers now,” was her simple and hushed reply. Poppy hummed softly to acknowledge it.

“Your mistress,” she added after another breath of silence. “Does she treat you well?”

“Of course,” the maid replied in an instant, almost snapping. “Lady Leveilleur is a kind and generous woman.”

Poppy pondered over her response for a moment. The lady of the manor was lucky, loyalty being such a rare virtue in their cruel, twisted world. She smiled to herself for a moment.

“I'm sure she is.”

The conversation wilted away. Poppy was glad when they arrived at their destination not too long after. The maid paused before a set of large double doors and opened one a crack. She peered through and then pushed it open all the way, bowing as she allowed Poppy to pass through. Then she was gone, disappearing like the mouse she was, leaving Poppy sealed inside the dining hall, alone. Or so she thought.

The scent hit her again, just as potent as before. It was nearly indescribable, how it made her shudder and shrink beneath the barrage on her senses. Like a bowl of rotten fruit or a withered funeral bouquet, cloying and saccharine and enough to make her gag. Poppy dug her claws into the wood of the door, hand hovering over the knob, half inclined to leave the room.

“Ah, there you are,” her gracious host said, sounding a hair impatient and perhaps a bit smug. “Come join me at the table, my friend.”

Poppy let a silent snarl slip out of her system, delivered to the door that creaked beneath her grasp. Then she put on her most winning smile and spun on her heel to face the lady of the estate who she was meant to entertain.

Alisaie sat at the head of the long dining table, dressed in a loose white blouse with puffed sleeves and an ornate vest woven of red silk, her snowy hair tied back loosely with a crimson bow. The flickering light of the fireplace reflected off of her ruddy eyes and the rim of the crystalline wine glass she held in hand, while the other was propped beneath her chin. She reclined in her chair, looking every bit like the wealthy heiress she was. Her gaze was fixed on Poppy, who approached the table with her head held high despite the knots the wolfsbane tied in her gut. Perhaps seeing this discomfort, Alisaie smiled.

“That dress was mine when I was younger. It's nice to see it worn again,” she explained. “It looks lovely on you.”

Alisaie drank in every detail of the dress and its wearer as she sipped her wine, which made Poppy squirm. Not in a wholly unpleasant way, she realized as an unbidden smile left her in turn. Deciding to play the part she was given, Poppy giggled into her palm.

“You think so?” she asked and twirled before the table, kicking up waves of wine-colored wool and lifting her tail beneath it to flick up the hem just a bit, just enough.

“I do,” Alisaie agreed, the words hushed and a bit drawn out. She leaned back in her chair and admired the sight with a tilt of her head before she gestured to the chair opposite her—the only other placed at the table. “Please, have a seat. Dinner will be ready shortly.”

The sound of Poppy's bare feet on the floorboards seemed deafening. If Alisaie had noticed that the costume was worn only from the knees up, she'd said nothing, just like her terrified little maid. But the wolfsbane claimed all of her attention and made her dizzy enough on its own, though Poppy also felt the effect of her performance and the tightness of her corset as she slid into her chair. Her head swam and she eyed the smoky little pomander that sat on the table beside a bottle of wine with open disgust.

“You seem a bit ill. Is aught amiss?” Alisaie asked, frown writ on her face. She feigned her concern well.

“Could we put that out?” Poppy asked, trying her hardest not to snap the question or wretch in the midst of it. “I'm… allergic to that kind of incense.”

Poppy shifted in her seat and watched her host watch her. Alisaie's expression changed to something that looked passable enough for apologetic.

“Of course. You should've said so sooner,” she replied, nearly accusatory. “That's a shame to hear, however. Monkshood has such a lovely scent.”

“It does,” Poppy lied through her gritted teeth.

“I planted several beds of it for that very reason. Many say it keeps wolves at bay as well. Which is a benefit, living here in the thick of the woods,” Alisaie continued. She swirled her glass, eyes drawn to the liquid inside. “Some even venture to call it _wolfsbane_.”

The word was whispered, but said with enough sharpness that it pierced through Poppy's heart. Alisaie's gaze flicked up, locking with Poppy's across the table through the hair-thin trails of smoke that wafted up from the pomander that sat between them. An insubstantial barrier that shielded the woman at the other end, at least for the time being.

“Has it worked to keep them out?” Poppy asked. She felt a snarl twitch on her lips, but hid it with a smile and a curious tilt of her head.

“Oh, it’s just an old superstition. I certainly don't believe in such silly little wives’ tales.”

When Alisaie laughed, she did so into her palm. Without seeing her mouth or what hid within it, her narrowed eyes read more as a threat. Poppy joined in her laughter, unafraid then to show her own teeth.

“It'd be wise not to,” she said with a grin.

The tense undercurrent of the conversation couldn't be denied, thick and nearly as palpable as the flowery, acrid stench that made Poppy's nose burn. She was relieved when the door creaked open and the kitchen staff finally arrived with dinner in tow.

It seemed like a bit much for just two people to eat, though Poppy's grumbling stomach seemed to argue otherwise. There were plates of roasted garden vegetables, popotoes mashed with cream and herbs, cups overflowing with gravy, and other dishes that Poppy had no name for, but couldn't be bothered to care about. What held her attention was a massive tray piled high with venison. She could smell it even through the haze of the wolfsbane; juniper and pine, murky fens it was chased through, iron blood mixed with rain. It was an odd familiarity that came back in flashes of memory.

A full plate was placed before her like an offering meant for the Twelve, delivered with trembling hands. The Hyuran woman didn't spare Poppy a single word or even a glance, much like the maid, and stepped away after pouring some wine into her glass. Across from her, she saw Alisaie whisper to the other cook and gesture towards the pomander. The second Hyuran woman hesitated, but promptly picked it up. The cooks then bowed and made their hasty retreat, leaving the two women alone again with their feast.

“Quite the spread,” Poppy whistled her appreciation, feeling her mouth water as the smell of the wolfsbane cleared away.

“Go on,” Alisaie said. She raised her glass and gave a nod. “Enjoy.”

Had Poppy not been in polite company, she would've attacked the plate face first and with her bare hands. She remembered her manners enough to take a fork and knife in her grasp, no matter how clumsy the utensils felt against her claws. She cut through a piece of venison with great haste and guided the too-large morsel to her awaiting mouth, where it was devoured in an instant. Gamey, bloody, intensely rich and deeply satisfying. Politeness slipped in the pace at which the next mouthfuls followed, which she knew Alisaie watched with an almost morbid sense of curiosity.

“Tell me, Poppy—what is it that you do?”

The question was loud and insistent enough to pull Poppy from her frenzy. She had enough sense to swallow first and wipe her mouth on the back of her hand before she spoke.

“I hunt and sell meat and furs to folks around the Shroud. Hawthorne Hut and Bentbranch and the like,” she replied. And it was the truth, at least for the better part of most moons.

“Ah, yes. You had mentioned that you were hunting last night,” Alisaie said, nodding in recollection. “It was raining rather hard. Is that really the best weather to hunt in?”

Doubt dripped off the question and a low roar of thunder seemed to punctuate it from outside. Poppy managed to get another few mouthfuls in before she spoke again to refute it.

“That's when the best game is the most vulnerable,” she said and grinned, fat glistening on her teeth and lips. “I was on the track of something irresistible,” she added and popped another piece of venison into her mouth.

She savored the way it practically melted away on her tongue and left behind a trace of forest air. A clean flavor, like the rain it trod through and died in, well before she could get to it. A shame she couldn’t kill it herself. That regret soured the taste just a bit.

“I hope it was worth hitting your head for,” Alisaie said, a bit incredulous, almost to the point of rudeness.

“Well, my little slip up led me to your good company, didn't it?” Poppy asked with exaggerated cheer. “I'd say it wasn't such a bad outcome in the end.” She gestured with her fork, not caring how a bit of gravy fell from the meat and onto the table.

“Indeed.”

Poppy relished in the way Alisaie glowered at her messiness, her nose wrinkling a bit in what looked like disdain. It was fascinating, however, how little Alisaie had touched her own plate. She pushed morsels around with her fork but hadn't taken a single bite, opting instead to sip from her wine glass every now and then.

“And what about you?” Poppy asked, shifting the conversation to her host. “What's an eligible heiress doing out here all alone in these woods?”

Alisaie let out a sharp breath before she replied, almost a laugh but more of a scoff. “This estate was gifted to me by my father. I took up his offer to care for it, rather than be wed. I'm not fit for marriage,” Alisaie explained. She was curt and to the point, as if the question and its answer offended her.

“I find that hard to believe,” Poppy said. It was her turn to be incredulous.

“I have a certain illness that makes keeping company difficult, and so I keep to myself.” Alisaie shrugged and took another sip of her wine. “My heart is weak, and the forest air just so happens to do wonders for me,” she added and pressed a hand to her chest for effect.

“I'm sure the shade of the trees must be nice as well,” Poppy said, her tongue slow to wrap around the words, each added moment giving them weight. “For your beautiful garden, of course.”

A log in the fireplace popped loudly. Its glow illuminated Alisaie's face, leaving little room for the shadows of her expression to hide.

“Quite,” Alisaie agreed. The single word pierced through the air. She smiled into the glass she nursed but didn't take a sip that time, choosing instead to stare at Poppy over its glittering rim.

Poppy was smug for a moment until her eyes and her fork found her plate devoid of meat. She stabbed a carrot and nibbled on that instead, but found little satisfaction in the taste or in all else that wasn't the venison. Her gaze slid across the table to the plate of her host.

“You’ve barely touched your food,” Poppy observed. “A side effect of your…affliction?” she asked and tried her best to sound concerned rather than triumphant.

“It is,” Alisaie ground out. The comment seemed to have struck a nerve. “Though, it matters little. I've grown used to such inconveniences.” She dropped her fork which clattered against the porcelain, no longer concerned with pretense.

“And yet you've slaughtered a whole deer,” Poppy observed. She spat the bit of carrot back out onto her plate and dropped her own fork, enjoying the way Alisaie wrinkled her nose at the sight. “Just for me? You really shouldn't have,” she said and pressed a hand to her cheek in mock surprise.

“You said yourself you were hungry. So, eat your fill.”

Alisaie smiled a tight lipped smile. It sounded more like an order than a suggestion, so Poppy obeyed. She reached out, pulled the tray that held the rest of the meat towards her, and devoured every last piece with her hands. It was a prize rightfully hers, after all.

Alisaie’s gaze never once left her. Something dangerous and wild flickered behind her mask of forced politeness, but Poppy wasn't afraid. Wolfsbane gone and stomach full, her strength had returned, and she intended to rip that pretty little facade away in due time to see who truly sat across from her.

Having finished her meal, Poppy leaned back in her seat with a contented sigh. She sucked each finger clean, slowly, watching with giddy delight as her host watched her in turn with disgust barely hidden. They said nothing for a long while, the fire crackling its own soft conversation with the rain in the lull. The pair of servants returned in the midst of the stalemate and cleared the table in a tense silence broken only by the careful noise of shifting plates and silverware.

When they left and the table was clear, Poppy reclined further back into the plushness of her chair, sliding down to kick her bare feet up into the table. Alisaie leaned back as well, crossing her arms over her chest as if she could shield herself from her guest’s sudden lack of manners. Poppy tugged at the stifling collar of her dress and flashed a smile.

“Tell me something, Lady Leveilleur,” she began. A sharpened claw slipped beneath the topmost button at her throat and severed its taut threads. “Why did you lure me here? To kill me?”

The question landed on the table between them, heavy as the tray of venison had been. Alisaie's brows shot up in surprise and the button fell to the floor with a soft sound in the pause that followed.

“What in the world are you talking about?”

A convincing deflection, sounding as affronted as expected. Another button joined the first on the floor.

“You _knew_ I was after that deer. Pretty convenient that you killed it right on your doorstep, leaving a bloody trail for me to follow.”

Another pause. Two more buttons fell, one bouncing and rolling beneath the table. Poppy let out a breath of relief, her neck finally free of its itchy confines.

“I didn't—”

“Oh, stop it.” Poppy rolled her eyes and waved a hand before her face to brush away the excuses and explanations she knew were coming. “It's been fun, but I'm tired of this little charade,” she added and then sat up to reach behind her back. The strings of her corset were severed and another breath of relief earned. “So, what is it? Are you trying to play hero by slaying the terrible wolf who roams these woods? You _know_ that wouldn’t make anyone think any better of you.”

The corset joined the growing pile of discarded finery on the floor, it's dull satin shine painted by the glow of the fireplace. Alisaie’s disdain was fully clear when Poppy looked up. Her grand plan unveiled, it seemed she no longer felt the need to hide.

“No. I could care less about being a hero or what others think of me,” she replied, quiet words dripping in venom. Poppy considered the answer with a tilt of her head, weighing the truth in it.

“Why, then? Oh, gods—don't tell me.” It hit her finally, all at once; a chilling realization, it's absurdity enough to make her laugh. So she did, rough and low, the sound scratching her throat. “Do you really intend to make a meal of a beast like _me_?” Another laugh, more shrill than before and loud enough to make her throw her head back. “Isn't that beneath your kind?”

Alisaie said nothing in response. Her gaze flicked away from Poppy for perhaps the first time that whole evening, her throat bobbing up and down as she swallowed. Poppy sneered at having cornered her so easily.

“You have a full staff here. A whole buffet for you to pick from. You can't be _this_ desperate—”

“ _Shut up._ ” The wine glass hit the table with what sounded like enough force to shatter its delicate stem. By some miracle, it didn’t. “I'm no monster who would devour the innocent, unlike you,” Alisaie spat out, hands curled into fists atop the table. Her annoyance had boiled over into rage and Poppy's pulse quickened in excitement to see it.

“What, you think having a sense of morality somehow makes you mortal still?” Poppy said, droll as she picked bits of meat from beneath her claws. “And please, spare me the lecture. I haven't hunted man in _years_. They're too mealy for my liking and they scream too much.” She paused to smile when she saw disgust curl Alisaie's lips again. “I much prefer rabbits. Like the one I couldn't enjoy, thanks to your bloody garden,” she added and pouted to lament the loss of her breakfast. Alisaie looked ready to leap across the table and wipe the look off of Poppy’s face with her own two hands.

“My _bloody garden_ that you ravaged, you filthy, mangy—” Whatever insult Alisaie concocted never left her tongue fully. She swallowed it down, along with some of her anger. “How did you know?”

Poppy considered the whispered question, chuckled to herself. It was easy to forget that others didn't share her heightened senses.

“What, that you're a _vampire_?” she asked. Alisaie flinched visibly at the word that was finally spoken, the one that unveiled her fully. Poppy continued on to add insult to injury, “You lot all smell the same. Like a corpse.” She inhaled deeply to remind herself, parting her lips to let the air hit her palate. “But you're a bit different, aren't you? All flowery, even without the incense. Kind of nice, actually.”

Alisaie’s scent was unlike the few others of her kind that Poppy had the displeasure to encounter. Like a wilting bouquet placed on a grave, or a fruit left in the sun a bell too long. Strong and heady but not so unpleasant, oddly intoxicating, leaving Poppy wanting for more somehow. It made her wonder, briefly, if the deer was really what had pulled her through the forest in the end.

“If only I could say the same for you, hound,” Alisaie said. It was a whisper that cut like a knife and her nose wrinkled along with it, as if her dinner guest reeked enough to offend her delicate sensibilities.

“Yet you want to eat me alive, don't you?” Poppy asked with hushed smugness. She took great pleasure in how Alisaie looked away again.

“I've heard tales,” Alisaie explained, sounding almost pained from the admittance, “and read books that go back generations. They all suggest the same thing, so absurd that there must be a grain of truth in it.” She paused and wet her lips before she looked at Poppy again. “The blood of a wolf is a true delicacy, and something strong enough to sate one for moons besides.”

Poppy hummed at that. It was certainly a curious idea. Something about the thought of being a prized meal made her senses prickle beneath her skin.

“So you thought to get a taste yourself?” she asked, piecing her host’s plan together with a smile. “You could've just asked, you know. I'll give you a taste.”

Poppy’s propped up feet fell back to the floor. Then, with not a shred of hesitation, she jumped up onto the table and began to crawl towards Alisaie on her hands and knees.

Her claws tapped on the wood, slowly, finger by finger and ilm by ilm. Her tail swayed behind her as she bared her vicious and terrible teeth. The maw of a monster, so very sharp, pulled into the most wicked of grins. Alisaie watched her approach, not flinching or moving a muscle. Only her eyes spoke and seemed to utter a threat that sent a chill down Poppy's spine. What a curious feeling it was to be hunter and prey both.

It was only when Poppy reached her that Alisaie moved. She pushed back her chair, which squeaked against the floor as it shifted half a fulm away. Perhaps to give Poppy space as she sat on the table, legs dangling over the edge and swinging back and forth. She crossed them and smoothed the wool of the dress over her knees, once again a proper lady. And she still smiled, considering her most beautiful and dangerous host from beneath heavy lids.

Poppy worried her lip beneath a sharp fang, playful and slow. Then, it sank into skin, drawing forth a drop of precious blood that stained her mouth with iron and crimson. It really was a marvel how much it affected Alisaie at once.

She gripped the arms of the chair until her already pale hands turned ashen, nails digging into the wood like little rubies. It must have been torture: to see it and smell it and be so near to what she hungered for the most, that was just beyond her reach. Alisaie's composure faltered again. Though, that time it was desperation that slipped through the cracks of her mask instead of anger, and it made Poppy's already heightened pulse thrum in her throat. It was a confusing muddle of hatred and fear and attraction that made each nerve in her body ache, every muscle fit to snap beneath the tension. They were both frozen for a while, unsure which instincts that blared in their heads to listen to.

“Is a kiss too intimate for you?” Poppy asked, mostly a taunt, but just a bit sincere.

She smiled and lifted a hand to her face, brushing fingers against the edge of her lips, just barely touching the blood pooled in the corner of her mouth. To see Alisaie watch her every move with restrained hunger only emboldened her. Poppy reached out with that same hand and let her fingers skim the surface of Alisaie's cheek. Alisaie tensed beneath the touch, but didn't pull away. She looked ready to either bolt or bite Poppy's hand off, who was more than excited to find out which it would be.

“Don't be shy. I know this is exactly what we both want,” Poppy whispered.

She leaned forward, tilting her head to expose more of her neck, fully cupping Alisaie's cheek in her hand. Red eyes pierced Poppy through a silver-white fringe tinted gold by the fire, and spoke a silent warning and plea at once. Alisaie was beautiful and she was terrifying, a beast not so different from Poppy herself, cursed with an affliction that turned the whole world against them both, and thus them against each other. Poppy dragged a claw along Alisaie's jaw, brushed the pad of her thumb against her bottom lip.

“Come now,” she encouraged with a murmur, “show me those teeth.”

Her thumb slipped past Alisaie’s lips and against a fang, dainty and pearly white and sharp on her skin. Alisaie stared at her, eyes wide and wild enough that Poppy knew she'd misstepped even before the crushing grip of Alisaie's hand was around her wrist. The wine glass shattered against the floor. The shrill sound of it echoed through the vast hall and into Poppy's ears as she was shoved back and pushed down onto the table.

“Don't you _dare_ touch me, wolf,” Alisaie snarled above her, spitting out the words as she let go of Poppy's wrist to reach for her belt.

Instinct screamed and Poppy’s hand dove beneath her skirt to retrieve her own hidden weapon. She pressed the stake to the vampire’s heart just as she felt the cutting sting of silver at her throat.

They were at an impasse for a moment. Neither of them moved, or scarce dared to even breathe, two beasts unsure who would emerge the victor of the hunt. Only the fire crackled blithely beside them along with the strengthened blustering of the storm outside.

“That can't kill me.” Poppy was the first to speak, voice tense from the strain but still confident. “It's only plated in silver, not made of it.” She could sense the impurities from her lack of full aversion, but it still made the blood in her neck throb to escape it.

“But it will _hurt_.”

Alisaie pressed the knife down a bit, enough to make Poppy snarl from the bite of the metal more so than the razor edge of the blade. She shoved the sharpened tip of the stake deeper into Alisaie's vest in retaliation, knowing full well that it wouldn't kill her assailant either.

“So will this,” Poppy cooed, smug despite the precariousness of her situation. “Did you know that the stool in your bathroom is made of hawthorne?”

Alisaie glanced down, perhaps only just then noticing the stake, and the sound she made was somewhere between a laugh and a growl. Her grip on the knife tightened. Poppy expected the worst, but Alisaie pulled it back and up and it sliced through the air before it slammed back down into the wood of the table, a single ilm away from Poppy's face.

Poppy’s grip on the stake loosened enough that it fell from her hand, rolling off her chest to land on the table beside her with a quiet thud. She stared up at Alisaie, who remained braced overhead with her hands splayed on either side of Poppy, trapping her in place. Her breaths were sharp and shallow, her head bowed low, her hair spilling over her shoulder snowy waves held in place only by a scrap of red silk. Poppy saw her fury, but felt her desperation simmer just as strong underneath. She lingered for just a moment before her back straightened and she got off the table.

Poppy sat up after her. She watched Alisaie run a hand through her fringe and then turn away to face the fire. She held back, tried to shove her true nature away beneath the pristine mask she insisted on wearing, the one that was already shattered on the floor among the shards of the wine glass. It was in vain, Poppy knew—they both knew, she was sure—to deny herself what her curse desired.

“Get out,” Alisaie muttered.

Poppy sat for a moment, stunned into silence.

“What, just like that?” she asked. Her tail bristled behind her in annoyance. “Don't be a coward and finish what you started.”

“I said _leave_ ,” Alisaie shot back, nerves clearly plucked raw.

Poppy slid off the table and laughed, more in disbelief than humor. Her grip on the stake tightened in a fruitless attempt to ignore the trembling of her hands.

“Going to turn me out in the rain? I guess your kind really are cruel.”

Alisaie's shoulders tensed. For a moment, Poppy braced herself for another strike, but Alisaie simply let out a long breath wrought with annoyance and impatience.

“You can stay the night,” she relented, her voice cracked and worn. “But if I find you here a moment past dawn, I'll make you wish that blade was pure silver.”

Poppy spared the knife embedded ilms deep in the table a glance, and then rolled her eyes. She held her ground to argue, but Alisaie had enough of her stubbornness.

“I said _go_ ,” she barked without looking over her shoulder.

Poppy watched her for a moment, a looming shadow outlined by the glow of the fire. Tension seethed between them, much like the storm that brewed outside.

“As you wish, my lady,” she muttered the bitter formality in response.

Poppy made her way across the hall and shoved the doors open with all her strength, not caring that they slammed into the wall and made several paintings rattle in place as she stormed past them. She skulked through the shadows of the hall, unsure why it was that an annoying little worm of disappointment wriggled in her gut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh oh, tension!! poppy really would be the world's worst dinner guest though, werewolf or not.


	3. unbound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Now there's no holding back, I'm making to attack  
>  My blood is singing with your voice, I want to pour it out_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sexual content ahead: fingering, oral sex, vampiric blood drinking, scratching, biting

The rain had picked up. Large droplets hit the opposite side of the glass and slid down the surface in thick rivulets that distorted the view of the forest beyond the garden. Thunder rolled somewhere off in the distance, the full breadth of the storm still not quite arrived at the manor. But Poppy felt it—the static that made her fur bristle and kept her awake long past the point she should've been upright, all things considered. Though, she couldn't help it much. The moon’s pull was still strong on her despite descending steadily into its wane.

Even through thick clouds heavy with water, she could feel its effect. It had urged her from the comfort of the bed and all the way to the window so that she might act as a silent arbiter of its strength. Witness it Poppy did, frozen with palms pressed against cold glass. The clouds did little to mitigate its call in the end, a silent reminder of the power it held over her afflicted blood.

The very blood that led her there to the manor and its caretaker, who had spurned her in the end.

Poppy turned away from the window, feeling annoyance prickle her skin yet again. It made little sense, she reasoned, to be annoyed—let alone offended—by the vampire’s actions. It was a miracle she was still alive at all, yet something nagged within her, a festering little thought that wouldn't give her peace.

She wanted to know how it would feel: to be bitten, tasted, devoured. A hunter turned prey. The thought of Alisaie's piercing, wild gaze and her needle-sharp fangs made something in Poppy's gut spark to life and stir. A growl of frustration rumbled in her throat, low and rough. She was just as hungry as her host, the meal served to her doing little to truly sate her in the end.

Poppy stood at the center of the dark room, a tempest both at her back and brewing within her. She looked down at her hands, clenched her fists, felt the sharpness of claws pinch her skin. A single nail traced the edge of her thumb and slid across her palm. Poppy paused. A shallow incision, a brief burst of pain. That was all it took to draw forth her greatest weapon and her likely demise. She wondered how long it would take before the vampire could no longer resist.

Evidently, it didn't take long at all. Poppy could smell her long before she heard her. Like a pretty little bouquet, summery and sweet beneath the dense pall of death that hung from her like a cloak. Poppy heard footsteps pad down the hall and then stop, where a sliver of golden light slipped beneath the door. There was hesitation in the breaths of silence that followed, and in the way the knob was slowly turned.

The light of the chamberstick Alisaie held illuminated her in its warm glow. Her hair framed her face in loose waves of silver, her body swathed in delicate layers of lace and wool. She stood in the doorway like a statue carved of the finest marble, still if not for how she tensed at the sight of Poppy who stood several fulms away. The candlelight flickered over her face, painting shifting shadows and highlighting her expression. Annoyance or hunger or both, perhaps, lurked among the darkness.

“That was fast.”

Poppy grinned in triumph, her little experiment a success. Her hand hovered before her with a faint trickle of blood pooled at the center of her palm. A silent offering, one that Alisaie considered with a flick of her crimson gaze.

“What are you doing?” she asked, words even if not for how the edges of the simple question strained beneath whatever it was that loomed between the two of them.

“I wanted to see if you'd actually show up,” Poppy replied with a shrug.

“Well, here I am,” Alisaie snapped. She took a step into the room and pulled the door shut behind her, sealing them both inside, tense and alone. It was likely that only one or even neither of them would emerge again. “Were you not content to sleep until morning? I could escort you out now, if you'd like.”

A roll of thunder clapped somewhere nearby to emphasize the curt response, almost like a laugh. Poppy watched Alisaie approach the table that stood between them, the last barrier left, carved of dark and heavy wood. She couldn't help but wonder if it was made of hawthorne as well. Likely not. Her luck never ran _that_ deep.

“You wouldn't,” Poppy said, sure of herself. Alisaie's eyes narrowed at her confidence.

“Would you care to call my bluff?” Alisaie asked. She placed the candle down on the table with a bit too much force, causing wax to spill onto the glossy surface. “Or perhaps you'd like to leave this place in a coffin rather than on your own two feet?”

The threat was snarled at her and Poppy snarled in return, though hers was far giddier and flashed more teeth. She took a step around the table and was delighted to see how Alisaie mirrored her movement, keeping the distance between them even.

“I wouldn't dare rob you of your bed!” Poppy exclaimed and pressed her unbloodied palm to her chest. Seeing Alisaie's annoyance deepen only made her bolder. “Besides, I have something you want,” she added, holding her hand out before her again.

“I don't want anything from you,” Alisaie said, nose wrinkled and voice tinged with disgust. Her gaze betrayed it, however, fixed on Poppy's palm.

“ _Liar_.”

The taunt hung in the air between them, nearly as real as the candle on the table and the flash of lightning that followed. They continued to circle one another for a silent moment, two predators unsure which of them would strike first.

“Tell me,” Poppy began. “When did you feed last? It's been a long while, hasn't it?”

The whispered questions were as close to sympathetic as she could manage. And in truth, perhaps Poppy did feel a shred of solidarity with another who was afflicted and cursed as she herself was. She knew the call of it all too well; the dreaded hunger that robbed them of their mortality, threatened to steal their minds if they couldn't control what they became. It was a bitter dance, and an exhausting one.

Poppy thrust her hand into the space between then, where it hovered over the candle, close enough that she felt the gentle heat of its meager flame. Alisaie tensed and stared down at it, her eyes growing wide for a moment before she tried to shove her hunger away again.

“I don't need your pity, hound,” Alisaie spat.

Poppy rolled her eyes and stopped in her tracks. Alisaie froze as well. The vampire was just as hard-headed as she herself was, to her great annoyance.

“Being stubborn won’t save you.”

Poppy sighed. There was no point in arguing further, she knew, and so she simply beckoned to Alisaie, fully extending her hand, and the blood caked on it shimmered beneath a sudden flash of lightning. Alisaie glared at her, her open palm, seethed in her silence and battled with whatever demons it were that screamed within her. Then something finally snapped in her cool facade, just as it did before, and the desperation that flooded out came with the all the strength of water that rushed from within a broken dam.

“The deer wasn't enough,” Alisaie admitted. “The blood of animals never is, in the end.” She let out a shaky breath and shook her head. “My staff… I can’t get myself to take without asking. To kill as I’m meant to.”

It was almost charming to see such hesitation. A soft heart beat within the ribcage of the monster who stood before Poppy, a righteous heart still touched by virtue. It was a bit tragic and a bit amusing and made Poppy’s expression soften just a hair.

“Then take what’s being _offered_ to you,” she whispered into the space between them, speaking as if it were the most obvious solution in the world.

Alisaie watched her for a moment, still unsure. “And what, exactly, do _you_ stand to gain from this exchange?” she asked, suspicion curling the words.

“I want to sate my wild curiosity, is all.” A wolf’s smile cracked Poppy's face once more. “I may be a _hound_ ,” she added with a hint of disdain, “but I'm still a Miqo'te at heart.”

Alisaie’s eyes narrowed, flicked up. “Curiosity,” she said, “will only get you killed.”

Alisaie's fingers circled Poppy’s wrist with more gentleness than expected. She stepped around the table and closed the space between them until she loomed overhead, a slender figure wrapped in shadow and the waves of her white nightgown. She pulled Poppy’s hand up towards her face, close enough that Poppy felt shallow breaths on her knuckles.

The blood on her palm had congealed a bit, the skin knitting itself back together with great haste. Another perk of her affliction; a nearly indestructible body that would mend at twice the speed as any mortal’s did. The perfect meal for a creature of conscience who didn't wish to kill. Alisaie eyed the meager droplets with something near reverence, and hesitated for just another moment before her head dipped down to finally claim a taste.

Her lips were soft against Poppy's palm, her tongue wet and warm, and she made a quiet sound that tickled her skin. It was almost a moan, something that echoed relief and agony and perhaps even delight. Poppy was bewitched by it and by the way Alisaie’s eyes closed as she lost herself in licking every last bit of blood away, going as far as to gently suck on her palm when each and every fleck was gone.

Poppy's hand twitched slightly under the attention, unused to such gentle and odd treatment. Alisaie’s eyes drifted open at the subtle movement and Poppy marveled over how they almost seemed to glow beneath the white of her lashes. Her lips parted and traveled down, barely grazing Poppy's skin until she reached her wrist. Small fangs brushed against Poppy's pulse that fluttered wildly beneath her skin, her blood singing and pounding through her veins in response. Alisaie could've bitten her, could've taken what she so desperately wanted more of, but she clung to one last frayed scrap of self control.

“Does it live up to all the stories?” Poppy asked, half awed and half amused, but fully curious to know.

“Gods, it's like nothing I've ever tasted before.” Alisaie breathed deep and Poppy felt it reverberate across her skin. “Like—like hot, molten honey or—” she shuddered and stumbled over the words.

Alisaie's grip on her wrist tightened and Poppy couldn't help but exhale a sharp breath. The way she spoke made something within her burn, something that she herself had pushed down and tucked away, a need that gnawed and threatened to burst out. She reached up with her free hand and yanked the hem of her shift aside, exposing more of her shoulder and neck.

“Why not have some more?” she asked with a smile, heartbeat thundering in her ears.

Alisaie watched her with a wide eyed stare, gaze as glassy and unreadable as that of an animal. Then lightning struck and so did she, and Poppy found herself shoved against the wall, breath knocked from her lungs and replaced with a yelp of surprise that was drowned out by a loud crack of thunder.

Alisaie held her in place. Firm hands at her waist, nails dug into the cloth of her shift, knee pressed against the wall between Poppy's thighs. She was sharp, suddenly, curled overhead like one of the roses from her garden, all thorns. Her head bowed and her breath was hot against Poppy's neck, teeth sliding over her skin but stopping just short.

“You have no idea,” Alisaie murmured, “what it is that you're inviting me to do.”

Poppy trembled. Her instincts screamed at her to fight and to claw her way to freedom, but her body reacted in a wholly different way to the sudden closeness. Alisaie's scent filled her up, consumed her before her teeth had even managed to break her skin. A heady perfume of petals and death left her limp and wanting.

“Oh, I do,” Poppy replied. “Now shut up and drink your fill.”

She tilted her head and Alisaie accepted the invitation, too far gone to argue or deny herself for any longer. Sharp teeth sank into her flesh to find her veins and soon Poppy was gone too, lost in the moment of their unholy exchange.

Alisaie held her tight. Her arms wound around Poppy and pulled her in as a hand slid up her back and fingers tangled into the short mess of Poppy's hair. Alisaie cradled her like something precious and delicate—like a decanter of fine wine, drinking deep from her pulse with a frantic mouth what betrayed the true nature of her hunger. Poppy arched into her, into the strange, frail intimacy that had slipped between them. Not at all like what would form between lovers, but rather between a pair of hunters locked in a stalemate.

It was painful and it was exquisite; to be at another's mercy, but to also be their salvation. Fire and fear and something else entirely filled Poppy up from her neck to the very tips of her toes from the thought. Her arms wrapped around Alisaie and her claws tore through her robe and her nightgown to sink into the tense muscle of her shoulders. She wanted to tear her apart and yet draw her ever closer, to relieve the tense ache that curled within her.

A growl tickled Poppy’s throat but a moan spilled out instead, shameless and honest, traitorous like her body that writhed beneath Alisaie's hands. Something about the sound snapped the spell Alisaie was under. Her teeth retreated and she detangled herself from Poppy, stumbling back as if burned until she bumped into the table. Her hand flew to cover her mouth, perhaps hoping that it would hide the evidence of her meal.

Poppy slumped against the wall, her hand on her neck. She felt the slickness of blood, the tiny pinpricks left behind, and her body howled in protest, nowhere near sated.

The two of them stared at one another, the pattering of rain on the windows loud and insistent. Then it was Poppy's turn to strike, to continue their clash. She closed the gap of space between them in less than a breath and grabbed a fistful of Alisaie’s gown, staining it red in the process. Before Alisaie could get a word in, Poppy yanked her down until their lips crashed together.

It was less of a kiss and more of a battle—of their wills and their strength and their teeth. Poppy tasted her own blood—copper and acid to her palate—and added Alisaie's to it as she tore at her lips with much larger fangs. For as much ground as she gained, Alisiae took in turn, fighting back with her tongue to capture every crimson drop spilled between them in their bout.

Poppy pushed herself against Alisaie, who grasped her with strong hands that slid up her sides and beneath the thin linen she wore. She discovered, quickly, that Poppy wore nothing underneath, and Poppy could've swore she felt a laugh rise in Alisaie's chest. She gripped her backside, teased the outlines of her hip bones with wandering fingertips that made Poppy groan into her mouth. Alisaie devoured the sound in an instant, pressed down on her to capture every sound that followed.

Poppy was the one to pull away that time, stepping back just far enough that Alisaie made a sound of surprise. She yanked the shift over her head and let the blood-flecked and claw-torn scrap of linen fall to her feet. She was left completely bare, fur bristled and skin pebbled to gooseflesh beneath the gaze that flicked over her every feature, appraising and appreciative and perhaps a bit confused.

“If you're going to make a meal of me,” Poppy said, breathless, tail flicking behind her with impatience, “then you'd better at least have the courtesy to take me to bed.”

If Alisaie’s face could've held a flush it likely would have, given her expression. She gripped the table behind her with enough strength to make it creak as her eyes swept over Poppy again. Then, for the first time that evening, a faint smile found her lips, pulling up the corner of her bloodied mouth into a smirk.

“If you're mad enough to take a lover like me, then there is little I can do to stop you, wolf.”

Lust sparked in her eyes among the hunger and Poppy grinned in return upon seeing it and hearing her words. Then she leapt to throw herself at the other woman, who caught her in eager arms.

Alisaie hoisted her up, holding her as Poppy wrapped her legs around her waist and her arms around her neck. She clung to Alisaie, threw her head back as she lapped at her shoulder to catch some of the blood that had smeared there. When they reached the bed, she was tossed rather unceremoniously onto it, with enough force that Poppy let out a squeak. Alisaie wasted little time in crawling after her, her gown pooling at her knees and draping over Poppy as she shoved her down against the comforter where she remained propped on her elbows.

Never one to submit without a fight, Poppy reached up and grabbed a fistful of fabric. It would only get in the way, she reasoned, as she slipped a claw beneath the tie of the robe and the buttons that pressed against Alisaie's slender neck. She tugged and the seams gave way, baring the pale skin of Alisaie's décolletage to the night and to Poppy's eyes.

Alisaie glanced downward, looking rather unimpressed. “How much of my clothing do you plan on ruining?” she asked, halfway to annoyance.

Poppy thought of the borrowed dress and its lost buttons, of the corset with its cut laces, the linen shift on the floor, the long tears on Alisaie's shoulders, her chest—and then grinned.

“As much as it takes to get you naked,” she cooed, sweet as honey and the blood that fluttered through her heart.

Alisaie made a sound as she shrugged away her robe—something caught between a huff and a growl. She pulled her nightgown over her head just as Poppy had, tossed it away just as a flash of lightning illuminated every curve and dip and angle of her bared willowy frame. Alisaie saw her admiration, seized it as a distraction to push Poppy down.

Poppy felt small and fragile all at once, despite knowing she could easily shatter every bone in Alisaie's body should she wish. The way she looked down at her spoke her strength and dominance without words, as did the pressure of her hands on Poppy's hips. She leaned over and Poppy laid beneath her, still as a hare that froze beneath the hound’s gaze. And she wondered, again, if her prey felt the same way before her jaws clamped down around their throats.

Alisaie threw herself down, no longer bothered by pretense and propriety, just as impatient as Poppy had been. Her fangs sank into Poppy's neck to begin her second course—one more meal among many more to come, she was sure. The same delicate fire as before come to life in her throat and spread outward, downwards, all the way through her body and between her legs. She squirmed beneath it, beneath the intensity of the feeling that seemed strong enough to tear her apart. But it didn't, couldn't, as her blood rejected a second curse, leaving her only with a deep and hollow want.

How long had it last been since she's taken a mate, she wondered distantly as her claws dug into the sharp blades of Alisaie's shoulders. She tore at her, left welts that would likely scar. Far too long, she decided, likely some time as long as the vampire had gone without a true meal. Perhaps it was a blessing in the end that fate brought them together. They were both made of hunger, after all, taking from each other in turn, a back and forth exchange that soon left Poppy greedy and wanting for more.

Her hips jerked upward, seeking friction and heat. She found Alisaie’s knee, pressed between her legs for balance as she leaned down, and rolled herself against it. It was an experimental movement that afforded her precious contact that she savored and repeated, pressing herself forward and up again and again in order to reach the spots that ached the most.

Alisaie must have sensed the movement somewhere in the frenzy of her meal and her body responded to Poppy's call. Her knee shifted up against her, rocking into the slick mess that painted her skin. Poppy groaned at the added pressure and canted her hips faster, harder, so desperate to chase the release bundled up within her tangled nerves. Her neck ached and her blood sang a frantic melody she could hardly keep in pace with. Her thighs squeezed around Alisaie's knee, so soft and wet, already so close to coming undone. Her endurance wasn’t what it used to be, evidently. It’d been far, _far_ too long.

She begged with her hands, dragging needy claws down Alisaie’s back, whimpered into her ear. Alisaie drank deep, as drunk on blood as Poppy was in moonlight, too preoccupied to respond to the pleas. But then she remembered herself, it seemed, and her body fell to be flush with Poppy’s. Her skin was cold marble against the fire that filled Poppy, and she trembled at the touch. But the roll of Alisaie's hips was welcome and Poppy quickly moved to meet them and chase the spark of her release that flickered in the corners of her vision like bright bursts of lightning did.

Poppy's panting was masked only by the sound of rain, her moans slipping between the sheets of water that pelted the manor in endless waves. Alisaie remained silent, but her body was loud with each muscle that pressed down against Poppy. It was a battle anew, limbs clashing and nerves pulled taut, tense and teased. Poppy wrapped her legs around Alisaie, strong thighs holding her in place. But when Alisaie's hand slipped down into the slickness formed between them, Poppy knew she'd lost that battle. Fingers swiped her lips and swirled around her clit with such expert precision that Poppy couldn't withstand the attention for more than a few breaths.

She came with Alisaie's teeth still deep in her pulse and her hand buried in her hair, holding her close. It was her first taste of madness and perhaps of death, a blissful agony that shook her much like her transformation often did—though far more pleasant than the pain of her body shattering and rearranging itself anew.

Poppy let out a low and sharp whine when she felt Alisaie's jaw unclench. She was freed from her grasp, left bitten and bleeding beneath her, a broken pile of sweat and muscle and fur. When Alisaie lifted her head, Poppy's shallow breaths stuttered in her throat at the sight. Blood coated her lips like a rich ruby balm and dribbled down her chin to drop onto Poppy like little patters of rain. Her eyes glowed beneath her fringe, her hair a silken curtain of moonlight that slid off her shoulders to surround Poppy in a wall of soft silver. Her gaze was wild and her expression unreadable, and it left Poppy to wonder if she'd been sated—if such a thing was even possible for the creature she'd just awakened.

Poppy thought of the stake that sat a fulm or so out of her reach on the bedside table, but knew it wouldn't be enough to stop the vampire should she choose to devour her whole. The blood had rejuvenated her, her fragmented strength returned just as Poppy's had after their earlier dinner. There was a thrum of fear and arousal both that quivered through Poppy as she watched Alisaie’s tongue flick out to lick her lips, and it keenly reminded her of her own hunger, not nearly quelled enough to give her peace. Her claws tore into the sheets beneath her in anticipation and she waited to see what the vampire would do with her next.

Alisaie was of the same mind, it seemed, as her head bowed back down to chase the scattered remnants of her meal. She moved slowly, languid, her tongue tracing the outlines of her collarbones, lapping away droplets of blood. She followed the trail down, between the valley of her breasts and then along the ridge of both. When she stopped to take a hardened bud into her mouth and swirled her tongue around it, Poppy let out a quiet groan. She was surprised when Alisaie's hand reached up to grasp her other breast.

She was rough, but Poppy had expected that. She took great joy in it, in fact, and encouraged Alisaie’s bites and pinches with a breathy whine and an impatient jerk of her hips. Alisaie trailed further down, her mouth and her fangs sliding over Poppy's ribs and stomach. Her nails were not nearly as sharp as Poppy's claws, but still strong enough to to leave welts and raise gooseflesh in their wake as they followed the line of her teeth. She slipped between Poppy’s legs, hands shoving her thighs apart with impatient force that made a growl rumble in Poppy's throat to urge her even further.

Alisaie sat between Poppy's thighs. She looked feral, or close to it, with eyes shining through the dark and stained mouth twisted into a wicked smile. Her eyes never left her as she kissed the inside of Poppy's thigh, a near-reverent gesture of unexpected softness. Her tongue darted out again to taste her skin before she sucked a bruise onto it, pulling the blood to the surface. An appreciative hum followed.

“Still hungry?” Poppy asked, the question teasing.

“Famished,” Alisaie replied. It was honest and bare and it made Poppy writhe beneath the hot breath that came with it. “Though, it seems you are as well.”

Alisaie’s thumb slid over the slickness that coated Poppy’s lips. She trembled at the touch, more affected than she would've liked to show.

“ _Starving_ ,” she admitted and couldn't help the moan that spilled out beneath it when Alisaie repeated the motion.

“Worry not,” Alisaie whispered. Her lips parted to reveal her glistening fangs, sharp against Poppy's skin. “Neither of us will starve on this night,” she added and let both her teeth and her fingers plunge into flesh once more.

Poppy very nearly howled and likely would have, had the storm parted to reveal the light of the moon. But she didn't need its light. It was overwhelming and almost unbearable enough on its own—the filling stretch of two long fingers and the pressure of Alisaie's mouth on her leg. The flesh of her inner thigh was even more sensitive than that of her neck and amplified every delicious pinprick of pain that mingled with the pleasure that burst from the nerves that Alisaie's fingers struck.

Poppy rode her fingers as best as she could against the crushing grip of Alisaie's other hand that held her still enough so that she might drink her fill once more. Poppy fought against it, snarling as she pushed herself as far as she could, her claws so deep that they tore into the mattress itself. Another thing ruined beneath her hands. She would've laughed at her path of destruction, but was too focused on the cacophony her body sang.

She chased her release like she would a rabbit—frantic, rushing, jaws slavering and breaths hard and fast. Alisaie was far calmer than Poppy could ever claim to be, so focused was she on the blood that filled her mouth and fed her. Poppy felt like a precious sweet, a rare thing saved for an occasion and meant to be savored, unwrapped and eaten in silent bliss. But Alisaie’s meal ended sooner than expected and her mouth pulled back to breathe a contented sigh. She regarded Poppy with a curious glance as she fucked her, deep and thorough, and Poppy stared back at her in turn, desperate for relief.

The red of Alisaie's lips held Poppy's attention. Slick and sticky with her own blood and soon dipping downward to where Poppy ached the most. Alisaie's tongue lapped at her to finish her off, swift and merciless against her clit while her fingers dug deeper and curled. Poppy came again and cried out that time, her throat hoarse and voice spilling out just as her blood did beneath Alisaie's teeth.

Alisaie hovered over her again, a pale phantom in the dark illuminated by quick flashes of lightning. Poppy admired her though the haze of her vision, a heady bliss that made the room spin. A hand slid up her side in a procession of curious fingertips and Poppy trembled beneath them until her hand slid over Alisaie’s and circled her wrist. She wasn't done, her own feast only just beginning.

She proclaimed the strength of her body in the way she grabbed Alisaie and yanked her down to reverse their positions. It was Poppy's turn to gaze at her lover, bare beneath her with long hair spilled across the pillow and tangled beneath her hands. Hands that Poppy grasped with her own and held tight, digging her claws into delicate skin that broke but did not bleed.

The dynamic shifted, and Poppy was then the huntress who huddled over her quarry. Alisaie looked up at her, eyes still wild but tinged with surprise and a sliver of fear that made Poppy grin. She could smell it—acrid and delicious, thrumming in her frantic heartbeat and bobbing in her pale, elegant throat. A growl rumbled through Poppy's body. A true growl, one that started low and deep and shook her every frayed nerve, slipping past each sharp tooth that lined her maw. Alisaie laid beneath her, deathly still.

“What would you have of me, wolf?” she asked, fangs flashing in the dark along with the crimson of her eyes. Half a hiss, half a smirk.

It was less of a question that she asked and more of a challenge that was issued. Poppy wasted little time in answering and rising to it.

Alisaie’s throat was beneath her teeth. She heard her gasp, tasted it when her fangs sank further. Though she could not feast in the same way the vampire did, she still took great pleasure in the feeling of her jaws pressed against such a vulnerable place. It would be so very easy to tear out every sinew and each cord that pulsed maddeningly close to her teeth.

But she didn't, and instead turned her attention to the juncture of Alisaie’s neck and shoulder, where she would leave her mark. She bit down hard, relishing in the way Alisaie's body arched into hers and the way her nails dug into Poppy's hands. She staked her claim, silently told her _you are mine._ It only seemed fair that she was, living within the territory of Poppy’s woods. The woods she fought for and defended from other beasts for nearly a decade then. Alisaie didn't sound like she disagreed with how sweetly she sang beneath the wolf’s jaws.

Poppy wanted to hear more of it, wanted Alisaie to howl just as she had the night before and on countless other nights when the moon claimed her. She bit her again and again, on her shoulders and her collarbones and her breasts. Her claws raked Alisaie’s skin, marked the space between the bruises sucked onto her ribs and hips, tore her to shreds in body and soul alike. She drank in every little sound she coaxed out of the woman who was finally at _her_ mercy. She then pushed Alisaie’s legs apart and didn’t even bother with hesitation before she began to eat her own fill.

Her tongue dragged against Alisaie, into her, pleased to taste the vampire’s eagerness on her palate. Poppy’s lips and chin were slicked in mere moments and Alsaie pushed herself closer, rolling her hips against her mouth to meet her every movement. She followed each frantic swipe, desperate to be devoured by the beast she had lured from the woods to consume. Poppy growled against her, possessive and frenzied, and Alisaie responded with a moan that made her voice crack.

Such a pretty sound, rough but sweet, and Poppy pushed her tongue deeper to tease more out. She found Alisaie’s hand instead, buried into the coppery tufts of her hair. Alisaie grabbed a fistful and gave a yank that made Poppy groan as she was held in place. Sharp nails dragged against her scalp and encouraged her to continue, fingers tugging and begging in strained silence. Poppy looked up and saw how Alisaie watched her, mouth cracked with blood agape and gaze hazy with want. She snarled and Poppy snarled in return, the shared language of beasts replacing the need for the language of mortals.

Poppy's claws dug into Alisaie's thighs as her head was shoved down by a demanding hand. Her teeth came out, too gentle to harm, but sharp enough to make Alisaie tremble against her. She was close and Poppy knew well enough as her breathing grew fast and her hips jerked even faster. Her tongue traipsed a trail from inside Alisaie, along her lips, and up to where she would meet her end. Poppy's mouth wrapped around the swollen bud and sucked, dragging her teeth and tongue against it to lap up the release she knew would come.

That it did, in a howl—just as Poppy had wanted to hear. Alisaie cried out in a way that rivaled even her own voice, enough to make the moon jealous of her call. She pulled on Poppy's hair with enough pressure to bring searing pain, but the wolf leaned into it and rode the waves until Alisaie was limp and spent beneath her. Like the rabbit with its mottled fur, but covered in bites and bruises and flecks of faint light from the storm that still raged outside.

Poppy looked up. Alisaie's breaths were shaky and deep and her eyes remained closed until she felt Poppy raise her head. Poppy licked her lips, slow and languid and purposeful, meeting Alisaie’s narrowed eyes with a smirk. In all her triumph, she'd managed to sate them both. Alisaie was less than amused by her gloating and gave Poppy's hair another yank to prove it, pulling her up.

Poppy was pushed onto her side, her limbs tangling with Alisaie's in yet another battle. They both were caught in a kiss that was crushing. Alisaie tasted herself and Poppy her tasted own blood, the flavors mingling in the bitter heat that bloomed between them. Neither of them faltered, still full of fire until the inconvenience of needed air pulled them apart.

“Now that you've had your fill,” Poppy spoke through labored breaths, “what will you do with me?”

It was spoken with hushed amusement, but lingering curiosity pressed in behind the words. Poppy idly traced the outline of her lover’s pointed ear with a claw, mind soft and just a bit woozy from the tremendous loss of blood. Alisaie smirked at her, then reached up and grabbed her hand to pull it to her own mouth.

“And who said that I've had my fill?” she whispered into her palm.

“Planning on bleeding me dry, are you?” Poppy asked in turn, mostly joking.

“My hunger is endless, as is yours,” Alisaie replied. Her breath was warm on Poppy’s hand, her fangs little pinpricks that spoke her seriousness. “I can't possibly let you go now that I've had a taste.”

Poppy felt a stab of fear sink into her gut—brief and fleeting, but there. She grinned wide and watched Alisaie kiss her palm and each finger thereafter, instincts turning sharper, sparks of lust that made blood pound in her ears among the sounds of thunder and rain.

“Mhmm. So you intend to keep me as a pet. Not such a bad fate, I'd wager, if you warm my bed like this some more.” She pulled Alisaie’s hand towards her, kissed the back of her palm. “It's a shame I’d just kill you come the next full moon.”

Alisaie’s eyes shone bright back at her, reflecting the selfsame muddle of emotion that Poppy just experienced. She smiled and flexed her fingers beneath Poppy’s grasp, as if to remind her of her strength.

“Nothing a little wolfsbane and some chains can’t fix,” she whispered, a threat and promise both. Poppy felt giddy at the suggestion and the series of mental images that followed. She was pulled from her fantasy by Alisaie’s next question, “And what would you do with me, if you had your way?”

Poppy considered it as she dragged her teeth across Alisaie’s knuckles. “I'd take you as my mate and whisk you off to my den,” she began, voice rough and gravely. “I'd feed you only the finest meats. Drape you in the best furs. Fuck you senseless every night.”

Her eyes were drawn to the mark she left on Alisaie's shoulder and the sight filled her with more warmth. A mate was an odd possibility, lest one who was a _vampire_ of all things.

“I'm not sure I would enjoy living in a cave.”

Alisaie's nose wrinkled and her brow quirked up, shattering the silly reverie to shards. But there was something about her tone and her gaze that was perhaps halfway to being fond. Poppy rolled her eyes and gave Alisaie’s thumb a gentle nip of retaliation.

“Right. Not civilized enough for a _proper lady_ such as yourself.”

Such idle little threats and whispered warnings. Not exactly the most common of pillow talk between lovers, but for them it seemed downright romantic. Alisaie pulled Poppy's hand back to her again to continue their little game of tug of war and her lips grazed her wrist, more firm than before.

“Well,” she said, “we shall just have to see where this sordid arrangement of ours takes us.” Her fangs were bared again, pressed against Poppy's pulse that fluttered beneath her mouth.

Poppy knew it was coming, but it still caught her by surprise. She gasped, pressed herself closer to Alisaie as her blood spilled out onto an awaiting tongue and she was caught in the fiery haze once more. Her free hand dug into Alisaie's side and held on to anchor herself while Alisaie drank deep. Her fingers fluttered against Poppy's hips, found her thighs, and slid between them and into her to continue their maddening dance.

The night dragged on, as did the storm. The two hunters huddled inside to hide from it, finding shelter and an odd sort of warmth, curled together to cure both of their angry wants. Over and over again until they were spent and sated in the day’s first light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed the self indulgent vampire fucking as much as i enjoyed writing it. :3c


	4. howl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Screaming in the dark, I howl when we're apart  
>  Drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart_

The sun shone down on the garden. Golden rays slipped past smatterings of cloud to rouse the plants, bright and cheery and keen on erasing all evidence of the destruction that raged through the evening. Yet despite the warmth that fell from overhead, the storm’s mark was left deep in the soil and thick in the air. Poppy could smell it, even through the handkerchief that covered her nose. It was bright and spoke of crispness and life, painting the garden and forest a bright green typical of the season. The plants were pleased, having drunk deep in the night—just as their caretaker did.

Poppy traipsed the rows of plants, regarding each plot with a curious glance. Tomatoes and strawberries, sage and parsley, beds of tulips and daffodils and the study little apple tree, branches heavy with its ruby colored fruit. Such an abundant and complex garden would all but wither away and die beneath the hands of most mortals, so precise was their care. It was truly a marvel and an impressive feat that a creature made undead had such a knack for nurturing life.

Poppy held her breath when she passed by the plots of monkshood. They would get no appreciation from her, not on that day or any other. The little purple blooms swayed blithely in the wind as if to mock her, but the fabric pressed over Poppy's nose was enough to shield her from their smell. It's owner's scent clung to it as well, serving as an ample distraction while she crossed the threshold of the manor’s wrought iron gate.

On the other side, she was free. The forest hummed before her in anticipation, as if to welcome her back. The handkerchief fell away from her nose and was tucked carefully into the pocket of her borrowed trousers. She inhaled, deep and long to fill her lungs, and tasted the warm sweetness of summer hit the back of her throat like a soft sigh.

“I'm surprised,” Poppy said, speaking loudly to address her former captor, “that after all of that, you've still decided to let me go.”

She turned back to face the manor and its owner who had dutifully followed her from its front door and through the garden like a silent shadow. Alisaie stood by the gate, still within the bounds of her territory. The large sun hat she wore veiled her in shade, as did the unseasonably thick cloak draped over her shoulders. Poppy saw a smirk quirk her lips, cracking the still porcelain of her face with a look of smug amusement.

“Surprised,” she said, “or disappointed?”

Poppy let out a huff at the question and her ears tipped back in disdain at the implications, and their grain of hidden truth. Before she could speak to refute it, Alisaie continued.

“These woods are your home. I would not dream of ripping you from them,” she said, sounding perhaps a bit pragmatic and even a hair offended that Poppy might think otherwise. “Besides, rumors of a horrible wolf keep mortals far from _my_ doorstep.”

Poppy sneered at that. The vampire was self-serving to the end, it seemed.

“Glad I could be of service, my lady,” she spoke with sarcasm barely hidden and bent into a deep and exaggerated bow before the woman. When she rose again, she smirked at the roll of Alisaie’s eyes and spun on her heel to face the forest once more. “Guess this is goodbye, then.”

Without looking back, she raised a hand to wave over her shoulder. Before she could move another muscle to take her leave, however, she felt strong fingers circle her wrist.

Suddenly, Alisaie was pressed against her back. She'd moved without a sound, not disturbing a single twig or leaf in the handful of steps she'd taken past the safe bounds of her fence and into the wilds that were Poppy's home. Her arms curled around Poppy's waist like the stems of her roses, her head dipping down like a heavy bloom. Poppy stiffened, unsure what she aimed to do, frozen in the cold shadows cast by the vampire.

“Do come back to visit,” Alisaie murmured. “I will miss you terribly if you don't.”

Rather than an order, that time it sounded like more of a plea. The hushed words grazed the skin of Poppy’s neck, pulling gooseflesh to the surface and reminding her rather pointedly of how bruised and bitten she was beneath the soft cotton of the tunic given to her. Each pulse point ached, every spot the vampire’s fangs breached sang a quiet song that spoke of hunger and desire.

Despite herself, Poppy trembled against Alisaie, her own body’s call reawakened for a brief moment from the intoxicating scent that filled the air around them like a fog. She broke the contact and the spell when she spun around to face the startled woman who loomed overhead.

“I'm no pup on your leash, Lady Leveilleur,” she whispered into the tattered scrap of space between them. “Don't get too comfortable, or I may rip your throat out when you least expect it.”

Poppy grinned; a reminder spelled out in the bare teeth that tore her flesh. Alisaie stared down at her, glaring at the formality of her title and the threat both, her crimson eyes shimmering in the shadows she carried with her. Another stalemate. Poppy sought to break that too.

A sharp fang toyed with her lip in the very same spot she broke over dinner the night before. Poppy bit down hard and let the metallic taste of her own blood coat her lips and fill her mouth. She looked up at Alisaie through her lashes, who was then at her mercy and looked back at her with stunned and hungry surprise. Poppy's hands slid up the front of her cloak, flirtatious as she arched her body against her, and then grabbed a fistful of the wool to yank her down and deliver her parting gift.

Poppy let the vampire drink deep, let her tongue wander into her mouth to chase each drop of blood spilled for her. Alisaie held her, oddly gentle, arms winding around Poppy again and a hand tangling into her hair to cradle her head and tip it back. Poppy sighed into it, lazily fought back with her teeth and soft nips to Alisaie’s lips that could almost be considered affectionate.

They kissed beneath the boughs for what felt like bells—a final twisted meal for a pair of cursed lovers.

When they parted, there was a moment of frail intimacy in the breaths caught between them. Something soft—an understanding, perhaps, or an odd sort of kinship that bloomed. Poppy sensed it—tasted it like a physical thing in her mouth, bitter and sweet all at once—and grinned again. She shoved Alisaie away and back toward the wrought iron of her fortress, back where she belonged. It was a dangerous thing to consider, that vulnerability. They both knew that well.

“I'd be more inclined to visit if you’d rip up those beds, you know,” Poppy said, reastablishing the rivalry between them with biting words. She wrinkled her nose as she gestured to the rows of purple flowers that lined the opposite side of the fence, behind their caretaker.

Alisaie scoffed. “And leave myself vulnerable to attack? Not on your life,” she said, sounding droll and serious at once.

She smiled as she wiped the blood from her mouth and paused to lick it from each of her fingers, savoring each drop to the last. Then she considered Poppy with one last look of annoyed fondness and let the mask slip back on.

“Begone, hound,” she said. “You've overstayed your welcome.”

It was a cold warning and nothing more. Upon hearing it, Poppy growled and began to retreat back into the woods, step by slow step beneath the sharp and watchful gaze of the vampire. When she reached the edge of the thicket, she paused.

“Until next time, Alisaie,” Poppy called out. A loose promise.

“Farewell, Poppy,” Alisaie called after her. Even at that distance and from beneath the brim of her hat, Poppy saw the faint smile that tugged at her rosy lips. “May your hunts be plentiful.”

At that, Poppy spun around and dove into the woods. She ran at full tilt, giddy beneath the dappled rays that fell through the thick leaves overhead, feeling like a foolish young pup. Her nose guided her through branches and brambles, chasing silent trails of familiarity through the brush. It was good to be alive and good to be home.

She stopped only when she reached a stream, one which she frequented often. It babbled beneath her and licked at her skin, pooling into her palms when her hands dove beneath the crystalline surface. It was crisp and icy and just what Poppy needed to chase away the lingering taste of blood on her tongue.

She drank deep of the waters and when she was done, Poppy pulled the handkerchief from her pocket. The square of red silk pressed against her dripping hands and her mouth and lingered there, crumpled beneath her nose. The smell was strong and would likely not fade for moons to come. Such a fine thing didn't belong in the woods, she knew, but Poppy clung to it and the memories of its owner that flickered pleasantly through her mind.

Though the sun hung overhead and it was only just past midday, Poppy threw her head back and let out a howl. It was loud, echoing off the trees and the stones and the air itself, speaking her muddle of emotion to the ears of all who might catch a hint of the haunting melody. She sang of the hatred, the fear, the love and—loudest of all—the hunger that gnawed its way deep into her bones and would never give her true relief, but somehow did in the brief moments she spent with the vampire.

It was not a howl for the moon, but for the woman who'd put a spell so strong over her that it nearly rivaled the affliction that cursed her blood. And Poppy hoped she heard it, somewhere within the walls of the ancient manor that sat in the middle of the woods, where she would one day return to sate them both once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oopsie i forgot to post this a few days ago. but here is the short and not so thrilling conclusion of this AU. i hope you enjoyed!!


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